I wake to
the scrape of the snow shovel
below my window,
and the rumble of
the plow on the road.
The air is white
with winter
now.
poem-words November 25, 2013
Counting words
ten at a time
twenty
thirty
Aiming for word count
three
thousand
words
345 down
2655 to go
Why can’t I ever
start writing
before eleven
p.m.?
poem-thanks November 23, 2013
I thanked the cleaner
in the hotel wash room
for her good work, and the pride
the staff showed in keeping a wonderful
establishment pristine.
As I left the room
a lady following me said,
“That was very kind of you,
cleaners don’t hear that often enough.”
But she did not
say thank you
herself.
poem- Remembrance Day November 11, 2013
“Every one is going, Mom!”
“You have to do your duty, Son.”
“We desperately need the money, Hon.”
“It’ll all be jolly good fun,
and over scarce moments once it’s begun!”
.
Voices echo, arms wave farewell,
as adventurous lads descend into hell.
They see what boys should never see
March in when the sensible would turn and flee
They rise each day at reveille
to create a future for you and me
Built on their fear, their pride, their aim
To fight whether they be slain.
.
When men return, once battles end
They toast their comrades and their friends
Through years of anguish in the night
When dreams return them to the fight
Today we salute them, the wounded boys
the men of valour, whose youth was deployed
into a horror of noise and mud
baptizing them with gore and blood
So we can stand before the cenotaph
To honour their sacrifice on our behalf.
We do not glorify their war
but we know what they were fighting for.
.
To the boys who left home, to the men who returned whole or broken, in thanks.
.
Here’s a link to the song “Soldier Boy” by The Pids. I went to high school with Stu Aspinall, who will donate a portion of all iTunes sales of this song to PTSD services for returned combatants.
.
poem- if November 5, 2013
If he loved her,
….she thinks
he would greet her every day
with a heart heating hug
with a spine kindling kiss
with glowing eyes.
If he loved her,
….she thinks
he would bid her sleeping form farewell
with grieving eyes
with cuddling kiss
with a heart felt hug
longing to remain.
If he loved her,
….she thinks
he would harness his white horse
unsheath his sword,
charge down her demons,
She doesn’t see,
that he is her champion,
if he sees who she is
and stays to fight for her
when she’s not looking.
She doesn’t see,
that he loves her.
poem- the last time November 3, 2013
The last time
I was here,
you
were
here,
too.
.
.
(In response to a WritersDigest.com prompt)
poem- on the edge November 2, 2013
On the knife edge of poetry
you perch,
your bloody feet poised to leap
into my soul.
poem- echoes October 29, 2013
I bought
an adorable black hat
at Goorin Bros.
Tilted the burgundy brim
to the perfect angle
Grabbed my new
wooly black ruana,
draped it around my shoulders
with a flourish, loving the fall
of the ruffled edges,
the weight, the warmth.
I felt my creativity
shouting through the garb,
felt Bohemian, wild, and artistic.
Then I grinned in the mirror
and saw the echo of my
great-grandmother’s
Salvation Army cape and bonnet.
We never get too far away
from home.
Shawn L. Bird 